


gaze upon your heart's content

by enterncc1701



Category: Star Trek RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Escorts, Banter, Harlequin Style Schmoop, Humor, M/M, Misunderstandings, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-27
Updated: 2014-03-27
Packaged: 2018-01-17 05:48:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1376146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enterncc1701/pseuds/enterncc1701
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU. Zach is the head of an escort agency, Chris is his best employee. Zach wants Chris to himself... so one day, Chris takes on a client who insists on complete darkness and silence.</p>
            </blockquote>





	gaze upon your heart's content

**Author's Note:**

> for guilty pleasure, not money or malicious purposes. pure fiction, does not know either party. wish them all the rainbows and unicorns in the world.
> 
> Inspired by an escort AU prompted at the kink meme. Despite the premise, no OMCs occur in the story. Smut, humour and fluff I think? Misunderstandings and schmoop. Harlequin style Romance, if you can believe it. Ha. 
> 
> originally posted on LJ. [Chinese translation available. ](http://www.douban.com/group/topic/44417096/)

“I still dunno, man...”

Chris is fidgeting a little in the chair, Zach can tell. And not in a good,  _I’m nervous in front of my boss_  sort of way, but in the slightly annoying if somewhat amusing  _I think I can dip my toe across the line because we are kind of friends_  way. Zach exhales through his nose and folds his hands across the desk.

“It’s unorthodox, I know.”

An eyebrow shoots up. “I could be killed for all we know.”

“You won’t,” Zach says impatiently. “I vet all of our customers studiously, you know that.”

“Uh-huh. And you think a guy with no name or face, who wants to do me in complete darkness, not to mention silent, is a good idea.”

Zach rubs the bridge of his nose. “Some of our customers value their privacy.  _All_  of our customers value their privacy.”

“And I value my life,” Chris says. “Zach, I can’t believe - “

“You will have a safeword,” Zach says, plungering on. “And it will take place in one of our rooms. You know all our rooms have a panic button, and if you feel uncomfortable at all, use it. In fact, just holler on the top of your lungs if that makes you feel better.”

The eyebrow goes up higher. “And you’d ride to my rescue?”

Zach smiles a little at that. “I would,” he says nonchalantly.

Chris fidgets some more, and Zach can tell that despite all the bitchiness, the man does trust him. The implicit knowledge of this trust does strange things to his gut. He clamps it down and clears his throat.

“Well?”

Chris looks up, his eyes an ocean’s worth of blue. “How much did you say he’s willing to pay?”

Zach names a number and Chris whistles lowly. “I’m having a hard time believing he’s willing to pay that much for... you know... no requirement of extra services.”

Zach sighs again and looks at him straight on, fighting the drowning sensation he gets whenever he gazed upon those blue eyes nowadays. “Have I ever endangered you, or anyone under my watch, Chris?”

“Uh.” the face relaxes a little.

“Do you think I would ask you to cross your hard lines, for money?”

The eyebrow is back, though somewhat good naturedly. Zach smirks.

“Fine,” Chris says finally, and Zach fights to keep his face calm despite the little flip flop in his chest. Then Chris snaps his head up again and eyes him curiously. “Why are you so hellbent on this gig though? ...Oh my god, is it someone you know? Is it someone  _I_ know?”

Zach rolls his eyes. “Chris,” he admonishes gently.

“Right. Privacy. Got it.” Chris makes a move to get up and wipes his hands on his jeans. “Time and place?”

Zach contemplates this for a brief second then decides to prolong the waiting is probably not a good thing. “Tomorrow night at eight. Just come in as usual and I’ll have everything set up.”

“Okay,” Chris nods. The blue eyes lock upon his once more, beseeching. “Zach -”

“I won’t let anyone hurt you, Christopher,” Zach replies, bemused.

Chris smiles a little as he hangs his head. “Yeah,” he says, “Yeah, you won’t.”

Zach inhales slowly and deliberately as he watches Chris’ retreating form, mix of trepidation, excitement and guilt in his chest. He can’t remember when it started, when he had wanted Chris, his best employee and highest engrossing escort of his agency, all to himself; it would be a total violation of work ethics, if they had one. But the truth remains that after three months of watching Chris come back to the office with a thoroughly debauched look, the curl of jealousy at the bottom of his stomach can no longer be tamed.  So, short of propositioning his best employee (an abuse of power, no doubt), Zach had to come up with a plan.

Well, we all know how this kind of story goes.

 

***

 

Chris glances nervously over his shoulder, then down the corridor, and up the door that says Room 826. He’s not sure whether he should knock or just enter, half expecting a gloved hand to appear behind the door and just pull him in. He spends half a minute pondering on whether that should arouse him or alarm him, and finds he is in a state of indecision. He’s just about to knock when his phone beeps. Unknown number.

_Safeword?_

Chris gulps involuntarily, still in a state of indecision about whether he should be turned on or scared pantless (a small voice at the back of his head is saying that these two are not necessarily mutually exclusive).

 _zeitgeist_.

Chris twirls his phone while he waits for a reply and bounces several times on his heels. The next messages comes in pretty soon.

_The room will be completely dark and I will remain unseen, and silent. You are, however, welcome to make sound._

Chris smiles a little at that, then sobers as he types out his reply.

_Noted. You are aware of my hardline limits?_

The reply comes immediately.

_Yes. The door will unlock for you in a second. Close your eyes, it will help you to adjust._

Chris stares at the last line feeling an odd sensation in his chest. He had come expecting some sort of kinky D/S play, but the messages so far seemed oddly... courteous. Again, he is uncertain whether that should calm or excite his nerves (aren’t serial killers all supposed to be wildly calm anyway?)

The soft click of the lock interrupts his internal debate. Taking a deep breath, Chris steps through the door.

The room is indeed completely dark, more so because he didn’t close his eyes before entering. He knows the layout of the room, of course, the soft carpet and the king size bed, assorted accessaries in the bedside drawer - yet in the stilled darkness, the room felt somewhat stranger. Full of danger and possibilities. (Again, indecisive over which).

Chris blinks twice before clearing his throat. “Um. Hi.” He ponders over whether to thank the nameless, faceless guy for picking him in the portfolio but decides against it. “I’m here?”

He hears the sound of soft breath before turning to squint towards the corner. The breath is long and evenly drawn out, almost meditation-like, and it takes Chris three seconds to realise that it is for his benefit - so he doesn’t freak out, when -

Chris twitches, just a little, when a hand is placed on his shoulder.

“Okay,” Chris says, a little nervously. He’s not sure whether he is expected to make comments, or one sided conversation, so settles for a few non committal words when the hand begins to move up and down his back.

Chris closes his eyes and half expects to be fucked into the mattress dirty and quick, but is surprised - pleasantly, he finds - when another hand find its way onto his shoulder and together they begin to loosen his muscles in his back.

“Uh. Thanks, man.” Chris says tentatively, feeling somewhat exposed. “I think?”

A huff of warm, silent laughter brushes his ear and Chris feels the tiny hairs stand on his neck. He turns a little and his neck meets a pair of warm, soft lips, which begins to press light kisses, nuzzling slightly.

Heart thumping wildly in his chest (because the reverence is too much, too  _foreign_ ), Chris tries to grapple onto something but the man seems to slide out of his fingers every time he try. Soon enough, Chris finds himself being kissed gently, carefully, the tenderness in the notion making him forego his own unvoiced  _no kissing_ policy, and he kisses back, trying to turn the situation to his favour.

He fails, of course, when the man senses his reciprocation and begins to deepen the kiss, somewhat desperately, sucking on his lower lip and carding through his hair. Chris has to stop himself from purring into the man’s mouth.

They finally break for air and Chris dizzyingly tries to reassess the pounding in his chest. It’s closer to panic than arousal, because of the strangeness in the situation. Chris resolutely does  _not_ want to think about the fact that a dirty quick fuck into the mattress sits better with him than a soft, tender kiss, but that’s that.

Suddenly the hands are back on his face and the man is grappling his cheek. “Ssssh,” the man says, which isn’t silent but isn’t exactly words either, and presses a series of soft kisses to his nose.

The panic subsides somewhat, and something else wells up in his chest.  _Well, I’ll be damned_ , Chris thinks, and pulls in a stuttering breath.

“Okay,” he says, trying to keep his voice level. Then, softly, “tell me what you want.”

The man replies by another suffocating kiss and Chris moans a little into the melting tangle of tongue. He feels the man giving him a soft push and backs towards the bed obediently, until his knees give out and he flops backwards onto the mattress.

“Undress me?” Chris asks breathily, finding some of his confidence back.

Agile hands tugged at his shirt and pants -  _no nonsense there, I see -_ and soon enough a warm body is pressed against his. Chris closes his eyes and tries to mentally draw a picture of the man’s body: lean musculature, bony in places but pleasant, ridiculously long legs.  _Definitely arousal this time_.

Chris can feel the hardness digging into his thighs and smiled to himself, snaking a hand down there to help. His wrist is caught in a snap, not harshly but firmly, and guided away. Chris is bewildered, and figures the guy likes a bit of control, after all.  The warmth from the man’s body retracts, and Chris wonders absently whether his prerogative was wrong, or he would be punished for it.

He gasps, caught completely off guard, when the warmth comes back and engulfs his cock, unwarned. Chris goes from half-aroused to achingly hard in a matter of seconds, and fights to keep his hands in the sheets, unsure whether he is permitted to touch the man. Instead he focuses his remaining senses on the sensation: the swirl of the tongue, tease over his slit, expert rubs under the ridge and over the head, the -

“Oh,  _oh_ , h -  _aaaah,_ ” Chris squeezes his eyes shut tight as the man took him whole in one, fluid motion. He scrambled at the back of his brain for what’s left of his coherency - he’s not used to  _this_ , whatever this is, after all. In the line of his work it was either he did the customer a service or he did the customer a service by allowing them to serve him - but he knows a a customer with submissive tendencies when he sees one, and this man appears anything but. There is something strange about the way he is taking Chris in, a strange sense of reverence, almost  _worshipping_ , like he regrets not being able to do this sooner or more often, and Chris thinks he’s going to come too soon if he doesn’t put a stop to this.

“I - uh,  _hnnnn,_ come on,” he realises he doesn’t know the man’s name, but has to make do with a beckon of his hip. Strangely the man obliges and rolls off him, fishing out the lube and condom swiftly before pressing a slick finger at his entrance. Chris makes a small noise of approval and rolls on his back, and twitches when a series of soft, almost amused kisses descend on his shoulder blades.

“I can take it, come on,” he says breathlessly and feels,  _oh, wow,_ a  _more than nice_  cock pushing at his entrance.

Chris braces himself for the burn and the pain that doesn’t quite come - he is more relaxed than he realises. The man bucks his hips forward and brushes his prostate just this side of gentle, and Chris keens, gripping blindly at the headboard.

“Please,” Chris moans, “Just -”

The man begins a slow rhythm that almost drives Chris crazy, then he realises the man’s hands never left his back. They are kneading his back in a semi-erotic message sort of way, while the man’s cock plunged into him forcefully and deliberately, not quite enough but  _yes yes right there_ , and Chris can’t take it. His own cock is leaking, and he hazards a hand down between the sheets, only to be replaced by a stronger grip a moment later.

“Don’t want me touching myself?” Chris asks breathlessly, laughing a little.

The man makes no reply but bites gently on his shoulder, eliciting a full body shudder. The strong grip doesn’t relent on his cock, instead he tugs, once, twice, then picks up rhythm, before long Chris finds himself fucked into the mattress, hard and fast and this side of desperate, utterly perfect.

Two fingers slip into his mouth and Chris sucks on it gratefully, moaning around it, finally finding them replaced by the hot, insistent mouth that he didn’t realise he missed until then. They work a sloppy kiss at an awkward angle, a frantic slide of lip and tongue that misses more than it hits, but it somehow works, just perfect. The man keeps thrusting into his sweet spot with admirable precision and Chris tenses all over, throwing caution to the wind and grappling backwards for the man’s hair, barely have time to register the touch and feel before he gives a shuddery sob and comes hard onto the sheet, lights exploding in his vision.

He comes down from the high with a hot and full feeling inside, and smiles as the man heaves long, carefully controlled breaths with shaking arms to prevent from falling over. In the blissed out haze Chris forgets protocol and rolls over, running his hands down the man’s cheekbone, his forehead and face, trying to mentally construct a picture of his client, only to feel the face turned away, gently but firmly.

“Sorry,” Chris breathes, as common sense comes flooding back. “I wasn’t. Uh.”

A soft kiss lands on his temple and Chris fights the small, utterly ridiculous flutter in his chest. He blinks again and muses at the efficacy of the light-proof room, the darkness encompassing. Then he realises his business is technically done here, and feels somewhat inadequate once more.

“So... uh, do you want me to leave?” he asks quietly.

The man tightens his arm around him and Chris takes that as a cue to stay, thinking maybe the client is into post-coital cuddling, since the sex was all tender and vanilla (though he can’t complain, it had been one of the best gigs he’s ever taken). He thinks he will cuddle for a few minutes, gently excuse himself, take a shower, report back to Zach’s office and call it a night.

He falls asleep instead.

 

***

 

Chris wakes up to Zach’s face staring down at him, slightly bemused. He blinks twice before bolting upright - the room is flooded with light again.

“Holy shit,” he says.

“Eloquent as always on mornings, Pine,” Zach drawls.

“I fell asleep,” Chris says, eyes wide. “I can’t believe I fell asleep!“

“Uh huh,” Zach responds, looking bored. “You are not getting paid for overtime, even if you did sleep in one of our rooms, by the way.”

Chris gives him a dirty look and swings a leg over the bed. His ass feels pleasantly sore and he almost, almost doesn’t care that his boss seems to be checking him out discreetly.

“So?” Zach prompts.

Chris lifts an eyebrow. “You want a play-by-play of what went down last night?”

For a moment it looks like Zach was going to say something then changed his mind. “Just making sure there is no permanent damage to my greatest asset,” he settles at the end.

“Uh huh.” Chris isn’t convinced.

“Hey, I came to your rescue as per your request, remember?” Zach says indignantly. “You didn’t report for safety last night, so I came and checked, saw you were out cold on the bed, checked if you had a pulse - ”

“Wow,” Chris says, shaking his head in slow disbelief, “wow. Thanks.”

“- left you here,” Zach goes on, unabashed, “Then came back in the morning anyway.”

Chris cocks his head sarcastically. “What, no breakfast?”

Zach huffs. “Coffee and bagel downstairs,” he says, somewhat peeved.

Chris grins and saunters towards the bathroom, allowing Zach’s gaze to follow. He stops and checks himself out in the mirror - eyes bright, lips kiss swollen, and three bite marks on his neck, possibly more on his back. His eyes meet with Zach’s dark gaze in the mirror.

Chris points to the bite marks (small bruises for all it’s worth) and says, “that’s as far as his kinks went, so, it was pretty vanilla,” in what he hopes is a reassuring tone.

Zach hesitates for a moment, then says, quietly, “Maybe he’s just testing waters.”

Chris is halfway through a shrug before he looks up again, brows furrowed. “Wait, you mean he -”

“Made a request to book you again immediately afterwards,” Zach says, a small smile on his lips. “It looks like you made quite an impression, Pine.”

“Right,” Chris says, a little dumbfounded. Last night was good, sure, but he can’t help but feel he got more out of it than the client did. Or maybe the client had a strange caring kink going on - he’s never the one to judge. “Okay,” he says again, turning on the tap. “And he said he want things to go up a notch?”

Zach is watching him impassively from behind. “He asked me what your preferences are.”

Chris took out his toothbrush and says around a mouthful of foam, “And?”

“And I’m asking you what your preferences are,” Zach says, in a slightly patronising tone.

Chris brushes in silence for a few minutes and mulls the question over his mind. His pre-coffee brain seems to go on an aimless wander on its own, though, and Chris finds himself wondering why it’s perfectly acceptable, and comfortable, for him to be brushing his teeth,  _naked_ , after a gig, in front of his boss. Sure, Zach is more of a friend than a boss, but even friends aren’t supposed to watch each other’s morning routines with that lazy, half-appreciative gaze that is so hard to decipher. He thinks back to the man from last night, the strong arms and delicious mouth, the kind of fucking that he had precisely wanted, and what a shame it is that he didn’t get to taste the man for himself.

Chris spits in the sink, rinses, and meets Zach’s eye in the mirror.

“I want to suck his cock,” he says.

Something dark flashes in Zach’s eyes but he lowers them before Chris can get a good look edgewise. “That’s all?” Zach asks, flatly.

Chris thinks about this for a minute. “I don’t know,” he says, scratching his chin, already a stubble forming. “Did he come across like a dominating guy to you? He was - I mean -”

“Out with it, Pine,” Zach says with a roll of his eye.

“He was  _nice_ ,” Chris says, and promptly blushes a little. Damn his parasympathetic nerve system.

“Nice,” Zach repeats the word, a little incredulously.

“Yeah,” Chris says, touching his nose in an attempt to stem embarrassment. “He was - I dunno, considerate or something. Not at all what I expected. In a good way,” he adds hastily. “I just - man, let’s just say I don’t get the kind like him everyday, okay?”

Zach eyes him slowly and warily. “You were really expecting a serial killer, weren’t you?”

“No. Yes. I don’t know. Maybe.”

“See my previous comment on your morning eloquence, Pine.”

“Ergh,” Chris throws his hands up in the air and brushes against Zach on his way back to the bedroom, “It’s just - people usually pay big bucks for the unspeakable stuff, you know? Things they find shameful about, and they come to us and we don’t judge them, blah blah. You just don’t expect someone to pay an obscene amount of money for some - ” he doesn’t say  _average fuck_ because there was nothing average about it, “some cuddling afterwards.”

Zach’s eyebrow is threatening to disappear through the hairline. “You are complaining because he  _treated you right_?”

“I’m not - ” Chris starts, then sighs. “How did we come to this conversation again?”

“I believe I was trying to ascertain your preferences in dealing with said client, aside from fellatio,” Zach says with an air of maddening superiority.

“Right,” Chris says. He sits on the bed again and finds Zach’s eye, a little sheepishly. “Well, I dunno. I guess you can let him know that, if he’s up for it, I wouldn’t mind - you know - being told what do.”

“You want him to dominate you,” Zach translates, flatly.

Chris shifts a little under the intense gaze. He has a small problem admitting that he likes to follow orders, giving how often he defies orders from his own boss, but somehow he knows Zach won’t judge him. He sighs and shakes his head. “Nah, you are right. Probably a bit difficult being silent and all.”

Zach stares at him for another long minute, then says, “I’ll let him know.”

There’s something in Zach’s eyes and sends a shiver down his spine but Chris does not want to analyze that before his morning coffee. He hastily throws on his shirt and pants and heads for the door. “Do we still have the Colombian brew?”

Zach closes the door behind them. “Any other day and it’s Nestle Instant for you, but since you’ve been such a good boy...”

Chris half-turns incredulously at the term but Zach doesn’t seem to notice. A hand pushes on his shoulder and he is reminded of how the firm hands held him to the mattress, carefully and precisely, but the shadow of the memory is gone when Zach gives him a gentle shove.

“On you go,” Zach says.

Chris grins. “Yes sir.”

 

***

 

His phone goes off when he’s in the middle of lunch. Again, unknown number, with a simple message of instruction.

_Come in when the door unlocks. Undress and climb on the bed. You’ll know what to do next._

It isn’t the most domineering of texts, sure, but the quiet, considerate (there’s that word again) confidence still got Chris’ mouth dry. His fork clatters noisily against plate as he contemplates on whether a reply is needed, and a shadow falls over him.

“The grease in your veins, Pine,” a voice says.

Chris squints at Zach and tucks away the phone. “Hello boss,” he says cheerily.

Zach eyes him with wariness. “Steak gets you in a good mood?”

“Manly food are aphrodisiacs,” Chris purrs. “Unlike salad and tofu.”

“Uh huh.” Zach says, not rising to the bait. “Do you still need me to ride to your rescue tonight?”

Chris contemplates this for a moment. “I don’t know, maybe.”

Zach’s eyebrow raises an inch higher. “You still haven’t figured out the guy?”

“Some serial killers rein in after multiple tries, you know,” Chris says defensively.

Zach gives him a look that clearly conveyed the complex meaning of  _I really don’t think you are worth_ y  _of any serial killer’s time_ , and Chris decides to let it pass in favour of his newly found, slightly aroused mood.

“You are blushing,” Zach observes.

Chris valiantly ignores him until he can’t. He tips his head forward conspiratorially. “I know we are not supposed to talk about clients to each other,” he begins.

“The hell you can’t,” Zach says, scoffing. “I know for a fact that John, Karl and Anton has Story Swap Saturdays.”

“And Red Pants Mondays,” Chris says, nodding sagely.

“What’s that?”

“Fucked if I know,” Chris shrugs. “Anyway. Shadowman -”

“Wait,  _what?”_ Zach nearly chokes on his tofu, “You are giving your clients superhero pseudonyms now?”

“It was either that or the Creep,” Chris deadpans.

Zach looks tortured for a few seconds, then mumbles, “I’m sure there’s an agency policy somewhere about this.”

“Sure there is,” Chris says sweetly, “I just choose to disregard them. Anyway, as I was saying, Shadowman is a good lay. I’m actually looking forward to tonight.”

Zach’s eyebrows jump an order on its own. “Really,” he says, then looks as if he immediately regrets letting the remark slip. Chris doesn’t notice, of course, instead clucks his tongue.

“So much confidence in your client-vetting skills, Quinto.”

Zach gives him a dirty look. “It’s not like I test drive every one of them.”

Chris lets out a short bark of a laughter and says, “Wouldn’t you like that, though?”

Zach doesn’t reply and instead walks off, shaking his head. Chris finishes his meal hastily and fires a quick response to the number,

_See you tonight._

 

***

 

Chris falls asleep again, afterwards, but he is jolted half-awake when he feels the body disentangling from himself and discreetly trying to get up. The sex was good - more than good, actually, it was spectacular - he can’t remember the last time he’d nearly blacked out from an orgasm that came from nothing more than good head and some frantic cowboy riding. The man - okay, so he only called the guy Shadowman to irk Zach - The man gave him everything he wanted, down to every pleasant tickle of the nerve, and he hadn’t felt this sated in a long, long while. He hums and reaches a hand backwards in time to slide against a retreating arm.

“Hey,” he says sleepily, “You don’t have to go.”

The hand that is automatically rubbing circles on his back stalls for a moment then retreats, slowly, fingertip by fingertip. Chris chuckles.

“No, I mean, you should get to stay,” he tumbles up and tries to disentangle the sheet from between his legs. “I should leave. You can sleep till morning if you want.”

The hand is back on his back, sliding up to cup his neck and a tender kiss is pressed against his mouth. Chris tries not to melt under the touch and fails, mentally reminding himself that  _this is a client a client a client_. Before his brain cells return, however, he has automatically opened his mouth to deepen the kiss, and the man is rubbing tender circles in his scalp, a gesture so affectionate something in Chris’ chest swells irrationally.

At last they break apart and Chris opens his eyes as wide as he can, wanting to get a dim glimpse of the man, but he sees nothing. He feels, rather than sees, a smile against his cheek, and a warm breath brushes past his ear, a simple word that he fails to pick up until the warmth retracts.

“Sleep,” the man told him, barely above a breath and a whisper.

Chris doesn’t try to fight, he rolls over, his back towards the door, as the man leaves quietly in his wake.

 

***

 

It goes on like this for a few months. The man has a standing order with Chris now, a weekly arrangement that takes place in the same darkened room, silent except for Chris’ voice. The pay is extraordinary, and almost justifies for Chris to stop working in the days in between, but Chris doesn’t, because he knows better than to rely on a single, nameless, faceless man, no matter how amazingly considerate and skilled he is in bed. Zach is half amused and makes vague feminist references, and Chris flips him the bird.

In all truth, he likes the attention he is being given, the care, the feeling of being  _spoiled_ , being  _worshipped_  every time the man enters him and leaves him a boneless heap of bliss, and he thinks he is the luckiest escort alive to have landed such an awesome gig and it’s almost a sin that he is also being paid for it.

The revelation doesn’t come until, what was it, their twelve week anniversary (is that what Chris is calling them now?). Chris finds himself hoisted at the hips, grappling at the headboard blindly, the man’s full cock sliding in and out of him easily while he is being kissed, deep and meaningful and passionate, a hand on his cock just the way he likes it, and the pressure is so amazing and right that he keens and squeezes his eyes shut, and, and,

...and the man kisses a trail over his nose and at his fluttering eyelids, carefully, reverently, sweetly. Chris freezes and thinks back on the last time someone did this to him, which is never, and he realises.

He’s not being fucked, he’s being  _made love to_.

Something strange and terrible bursts through the revelation and to the fore of his chest, and he suddenly can’t breath anymore. “No,” he says, panicking all of a sudden, “No, no, zeitgeist, _zeitgeist!_ ”

The safeword shocks him just as much as the man who’s currently bucking into him, but the man stills completely, with no hesitation. Warm lips still hover over his eyes, which are still squeezed tightly shut, the unmistakable question hanging in the air.

Chris takes a deep breath and opens his eyes. He feels like he’s blind. “I - I can’t,” he gasps, and struggles to sit up, wincing as the half hard cock slips out of him. “I’m sorry,” he says, willing his pounding heart to slow down.

A firm hand grips his arm, and the question becomes more urgent. Chris tries to ignore it and fumbles around for his shirt, but the pressure on his arm builds, and the man gives a small, firm jerk, as Chris tries to turn away from him.

“I’m sorry,” Chris says again, “I don’t think it’s a good idea for us to keep doing this - you can take it up with my manager, and I’ll refund you for today, I will, I just -” he’s rambling, he knows, but he can’t seem to stop.

The pressure on his arm is increasing and it’s now on the verge of painful, but the man doesn’t seem to do more than seeking his attention. The man makes no attempt at keeping Chris in place, only digging his fingertips into his arm in way of a burning question.

Finally Chris stops and sighs. He hangs his head low, sitting by the bed, wondering how the fuck he let a client get into his head and how it got all so wrong. The man seems to take the pause as a positive sign, and he comes closer and tentatively presses a kiss to Chris’s spine.

Chris snaps. “Don’t!”

The man retreats so fast that Chris immediately feels bad for it. “I’m sorry,” he says, dejectedly. “Shit. I’m - really, I’m sorry...”

The firm hand is back on his shoulder, asking,  _for what?_

Chris swallows, hard. What he wants to say, is about to say, is ridiculous, he knows, but somehow he thinks it’s better if he says it, anyway. “I’m not some guy’s shadow of a replacement,” he says, and is amazed at the bitterness in his voice.

The man is silent, from shock or awe, he does not know.

“I know I’m supposed to be,” Chris says, as the words just tumble forth, “That’s probably why you wanted the room to be dark, right? I know that’s what you pay me for and - fuck, I shouldn’t be saying this because it’s unfair - unfair to you, I know, this isn’t what you are looking for, and I have no right, I know, but you should’ve told me what you expected in the beginning, told me that I was stepping in for someone else, instead of - instead of -”

He trails off, unable to voice the next thought that threatens to rip him from inside.  _Instead of making me feel loved_.

The man says nothing and doesn’t move a single muscle during his outburst. Chris comes out of his rant shaking slightly, and realises the hand is gone from his shoulder. He feels that much colder and alone without it, but he pulls himself together and stumbles off the bed.

“I’m sorry,” he says firmly, a last apology. He doesn’t look back as he opens the door and the light in the corridor hurts his retina, so much that tears well up. “I hope you and your guy works it out, I really do. You are an amazing - god, I have no right to say this, but I’ve said enough already.” Chris looks at his feet and fights the urge to glance back through the doorway and have a glimpse, just a glimpse, of the man via the corridor light, but he doesn’t. “Really. Thank you. And good luck.”

He closes the door behind him and hears a small, almost inaudible sigh.

 

***

 

Chris lies on his couch in a funk for no more than two hours when someone threatens to take down his door. He stumbles to open the door and finds Zach, dressed impeccably hipster as always, staring wide eyed back at him.

“What are you - how - how do you know where I live?”

Zach’s eyebrows rise arrogantly. “I’m your boss, I know where you live.”

Chris growls frustratedly. “Not in the mood, Quinto.”

“Right. And I’m riding to your rescue. Hence the premeditated need to know where you live, see, it’s all very logical.”

Chris squints. “Which part of not in the mood do you not understand?”

Zach shuts the door with his foot and nods towards the couch. “Sit,” he says.

Chris looks at the couch and back at Zach again. “No,” he says slowly.

“Sit,” Zach repeats himself, and there’s something dangerous in the casual confidence he exerts, an unspoken line that says  _I know you will so just stop wasting our time_ , and Chris finds himself on the couch before he can get his  _I don’t give a shit_  act together.

“I guess this is you hearing about what happened, then,” he says, dejected.

“Uh huh,” Zach says, but he doesn’t elaborate.

Chris feels like he’s apologised enough already and has to muster the energy to apologise again. “I’m -”

Zach cuts him short and shakes his head. “No, I am, Pine. I’m sorry.”

Chris eyes him dubiously. “Why, because you didn’t vet for his lovestruck mental state before you asked me to take the gig?”

Zach sighs, elaborately. He doesn’t answer the question. “Why do you think the guy did what he did, Pine? Hiding in the dark, silent and all that.”

“In all order of likelihood?” Chris thinks about it for a while and counts the reason off his fingers, “He’s famous, easily recognisable, most wanted, looks like Quasimodo - though I find that hard to believe from what I can feel, has some kind of darkness kink, I know he isn’t mute because he did actually say a word to me once, has some sort of strange complex going on, body image issues - do you want me to continue?”

Zach is looking at him patiently. “And those reasons scare you off tonight?”

“No,” Chris says gruffly. Then, as Zach doesn’t seem to be backing down any time soon, he says, reluctantly, “He’s just using me as a substitute for some one he can’t get his hands on. So he doesn’t really want to see me. Wants to live a fantasy of his.”

Zach is eyeing him with a strange look, one that Chris can’t really decipher. “That Harlequin sensibility of yours, Pine.”

Chris feels something jab in his chest and he has to fight the irrational swell of tears again, feeling vulnerable and utterly ridiculous. “Fuck off,” he says roughly, turning towards the kitchen to find a beer.

A gentle hand lands in between his shoulder blades and he freezes, the memory it trudges up being too much. “I just -“ he takes a deep breath and hates himself even more, like that’s possible, “I can’t believe I let a client - I let  _myself_  believe that all of  _that_  was - you know, real.”

“All of what,” Zach asks quietly. He doesn’t retract his hand.

Chris sits back down on the couch, feeling suddenly weary. “The care. Reverence. The kisses, god, the kisses. Like he  _wanted_  me. Like he wanted  _me.”_ he shakes his head. “I can’t believe I’ve been That Guy, the stupid nookie who falls in love with -”

He catches himself abruptly and stares at his hands, horror struck. Zach’s hands still at his back, too, and he doesn’t have to look up to know his boss, his  _friend_ , is also in a state of shock. They sit like statues in silence for a few minutes, then Chris groans loudly into his hands.

“Fucking shit shit  _shit!”_

For once, Zach doesn’t comment on his eloquence. Instead, Chris feels the hands tug at his shoulder, gently backwards, and Chris complies, to confused to do anything but follow. He looks at Zach, whose eyes have gone from sharp amber to a shade of molten brown, impossibly soft, and suddenly realises Zach’s hands were grappling his cheek.

“Close your eyes,” Zach whispers, softly.

Chris blinks twice in confusion. “Why?”

“Close them,” Zach says again, a quiet, firm request.

Chris does, and he feels the ghost of Zach’s breath floating close. He’s almost certain he’s going to be kissed, and is again in a state of indecision on how he should feel about that, when soft lips landed on his eyelids, causing his lashes to flutter violently. It takes three seconds for his brain to whirr back into motion again, as his nerve endings picked up the familiarity in the kisses, an exact echo of what happened not hours ago. There is a strange sound in his ear, and it takes a further five seconds for him to realise that it is the sound of his own breathing, coming out in gasps and gulpful of shock.

“I’m sorry,” Zach says, grimacing, once they’ve pulled apart.

Chris stares at his boss like he’s the last straw for a drowning man. “I don’t - why - that was  _you_?”

Zach nods slowly and slides his hand on Chris’ arm, where a half-painful handprint still remains. It slots together, perfectly.

Chris lets out an ugly snarl and backs off the couch so quickly that the coffee table nearly tumbles over.

“Is this some kind of a sick  _joke,_ Quinto?” Chris says, fighting the ugly beast of betrayal in his voice, “I thought we were  _friends_!”

A brief look of pain flitted across Zach’s handsome features. “That’s exactly the problem,” he says.

Chris barely registers what Zach is saying and instead wants to curl himself into a ball and throw himself to the corner. “I can’t believe you’d -  _why?_ ”

He realises he must’ve sounded broken, because Zach quickly stands and comes over, concern plain in his face. “I’m sorry,” Zach says, and isn’t it ironic how the litany of apology is used on reverse, and how  _weak_  it all sounds, “I’m sorry, I didn’t want to - ”

“- What, to hurt me? To play with my goddamn  _feelings_?”

“- to just be friends,” Zach finishes, almost lamely.

Chris stares.

And stares some more.

Then he laughs. A harsh, ruthless sound that has Zach flinching.

“Fuck you, Quinto.”

For once, Zach doesn’t seem to have a reply or a witty retort. His eyes follow Chris’ retreating form and he almost, almost looks pleading, his jaw set in a firm line and something unreadable in his expression. Then Chris realises it’s  _earnesty_. Goddamned earnesty, like Zach is saying,  _I’m serious_.

Chris runs a hand through his hair and lets out a frustrated growl. “You could’ve just  _asked,_ ” he says, feeling rattled and unrooted.

“You know very well I won’t abuse my position of power,” Zach says quietly. “I will never ask anything without your consent.”

Chris is struck by the quiet confidence in those words, the consideration,  _Jesus_ , and he paces a few steps in his small living room. “I still don’t understand,” he says, desperately.

Zach is staring at his own hands. To Chris’ astonishment, he repeats an earlier question. “Why do you think a guy would do what he did, Pine?”

Chris contorts his face. “I don’t know,” he spits, “because he enjoys it? The power of being the only one in the know, Quinto, or because he doesn’t want to bear the shame of wanting to sleep with one of his - ” the look on Zach’s face is so horrifying that Chris remembers to backpedal at the last minute and not let his rage consume him. “Yeah. I don’t know.”

“Could it be because he doesn’t think he’d get his - his  _friend_ ,” Zach says, quietly, “any other way? That he’s desperate enough to - just to get what he can, and he promised himself it’d be that one time, only it’s - and somehow it’s never enough -”

He doesn’t finish his broken sentences but somehow Chris understands, he understands completely.

“Oh,” he says, suddenly realising Zach’s hands are shaking slightly and his jaw is clenched so tight a tension headache of magnitude must be bothering him now. “ _Oh._ ”

Zach laughs a little breathlessly. “Always eloquent when epiphany strikes, Pine.” He doesn’t look up.

Chris stares at him. He suddenly realises he can piece Zach together like a puzzle - the dip of a groove here and a move of a muscle there, the bony protrusion near his hip, hanging evident above his low cut jeans, the soft hair that he has nuzzled against peeking out from under his shirt. Anger dissipates as quickly as it had come and Chris realises the easy comfort he has felt around the man in the dark on the first day was the result of the easy comfort he and Zach always shared, something instinctive. He sighs, almost reverently.

Zach’s head snaps up and the expression on the man’s face is carefully blank. The ball is in his court now, Chris realises, and the first thing he can think of, is -

“My ass is still wet,” he huffs.

A look of pure shock crosses Zach’s features, then the sound of deep, unrestrained laughter bubbles up from his chest, or maybe it’s from Chris’ own chest, but soon enough they are giggling together.

“Fucking eloquent as ever, Pine,” Zach says around a gasp of air.

“Uh huh,” Chris says, straightening and licking his lips. He presses into Zach’s personal space and up close, real close, making sure their eyes filled each other’s vision, and finds his own reflection in Zach’s dark, dilated pupils. “Care to finish what you started, Quinto?”

He’s being flipped onto his back before he can finish the words, and Zach’s growl sends a shiver down his spine like nothing before. “God, Chris, you have no idea how fucking  _difficult_  it is to keep quiet and not to call your name when - ”

Chris groans loudly and pulls Zach down for a kiss, deep and desperate and passionate and familiar and strange at the same time. When they break apart, Chris has Zach’s name on his lips, over and over again.

“It’s nice to finally have a name to answer to, you know,” Chris says breathlessly.

Zach’s eyes flash dark for a moment. “I do believe you once said something about wanting to suck my cock.”

“Hell  _yes_ ,” Chris breathes and starts to wriggle down.

Firm hands cup his jaw, however, and he is forced to look into Zach’s eyes again, pupils blown wide and irises almost a shade too dark, threatening to pull him in and drown him. “I do believe there’s something else you once said,” Zach purrs.

 _Oh._  Chris blushes furiously and thinks back on all the fantasies he’s shared with Zach, when he firmly believed they were male-bonding over sluttiness (then again, maybe it was always just him). “Which one?”

Zach actually laughs at that. “All of them, eventually,” he says, and Chris’ stomach tighten at the promise of  _more_. Zach is studying him carefully.

“Okay?”

Chris grins so dazzlingly that he is pleased to find Zach blinking twice. “ _Okay_. God, fuck me already, Zach.”

Zach smiles and stands up gracefully, off the couch. “Bed,” he says, the quiet and firm confidence back in its place.

Chris follows his orders and flops down to the bed with a sense of giddiness, that somehow the world’s axis retilted itself and the earlier angst of the evening completely dissipated with the promise of -

“Two for one,” Chris singsongs as Zach pulls his sweater over his head. Dark brows furrowed themselves.

“Come again?”

Chris giggles and mimics a petal pulling gesture. “I love Zach. I love Guy in the Dark. Zach. Guy in the Dark. Zach... mmm, always Zach.”

Zach looks torn between being amused and scandalised. “What are you, twelve?”

“Hey!” Chris protests, “I like you, a lot, okay, but I didn’t know whether you’d be any good in bed, you know, so I figured I wanted to keep you as a platonic soulmate or someth-” The look on Zach’s face probably mirrored his own, and Chris quickly backtracks. “I’m sorry. Oh god, just shut me up.”

Zach’s expression slowly morphs from being stunned to being sly. “Gladly,” he says, and straddles Chris’ chest, gently tapping his chin with his cock.

Chris takes his time and studies the cock carefully, almost reverently under ample lighting in the bedroom before taking him in slowly, then sighing around it, content. Zach chokes back a gasped sound and says,

“God, Pine, now I’m thinking all that darkness was a bad idea,”

Chris lifts an eyebrow and smirks, taking him deeper. Zach groans wholeheartedly and fights to keep his eyes open, taking in Chris’ lustful features hungrily, and Chris smirks even more.

Chris puts on the show of being expressive with his face when Zach finally dug into him once more, hips rocking slowly and maddeningly, his eyes rolling back and mouth half agape, licking his lips and making sinful noises whenever Zach’s cock brushes his prostate, and Zach lets out a shuddery breath.

“God, look at you,” he breathes, full of lust and awe and adoration, and something in Chris’ chest swells.

“Yeah,” he breathes, locking eyes with the one person he slots together so easily in the universe, “look at me.”

Zach closes his eyes forcefully and opens them again, and Chris sees the open vulnerability there, the frankness beseeching, and Chris feels his heart curl.

“Yes,” he gasps, more of a confirmation than a moan, “Zach, whatever you want, god, yes -”

Zach’s brows furrow together fleetingly and he leans down, pressing a soft, tender kiss to his lips, a stark contrast to the frenzied hand working at his cock, and Chris tumbles over the edge, spilling white and hot between their pressed bodies, clenching down hard on Zach’s cock, still pumping away. Zach’s thrust becomes erratic after a few moments and his lips slide over Chris’ open mouth, and he comes in a full body shudder, a look of pure ecstasy over his normally calm features. Chris watches every tighten and pull of the muscle hungrily, curiously, wanting to make up time for all the darkness, and finding pleasure in its tenfold.

They lay side by side for a while and Chris makes contented noises over Zach’s hand, carding habitually through his hair, when Chris suddenly starts to giggle. Zach half-turns, and smiles.

“What,” he says quietly.

Chris rubs at his eyes and laughs some more. “Just your reputation as a hardcore boss,” he gasps. “I always figured you’d just want to take me from behind and fuck me into the desk while I’m bound at the wrist or something, but this? God, Quinto, you are one hell of a sap.”

“Mmm.” Zach has his eyes closed but the eyebrow is climbing upwards. “Be careful what you wish for, Pine.”

Chris rolls over and flattens a palm against the man’s face, looking and watching and gazing for all his heart’s content. He doesn’t even try to wipe the silly grin off his face.

“I can’t wait.”

 

**END**

**Author's Note:**

> First foray into Pinto. Hastily thrown together so excuse all the hurriedness and things. Hope you enjoyed <3


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